Dying in Here
by Liliumscribe
Summary: Is Mal too late in admitting his long suppressed feelings for Inara?


Title: Dying in Here   
Liliumscribe  
Mal/Inara angst  
Occasional reference to events in the television series.  
Disclaimer: These fascinating characters belong to Joss Whedon and I am grateful for the opportunity to place them in a different light.

He stared numbly at her seemingly lifeless body as fear gnawed through his insides. Her luxuriant, black locks hung over his lap as he glanced down at her porcelain features, watching their usual hues gradually draining away. He feared the worst. _It was meant for me. It should be me lying here bleedin'._ Not her… not now… His bloodstained hands desperately trying to close the gaping wound on her chest were wearied by the exertions and a strange feeling of loss. Within the space of a brief few minutes, his world was in a spin… this woman that he had for the longest time tried to resist was drifting away… Little by little… and those lips, that drove him to despair time and time again, were losing their warmth and colour.

A quiet moan and a whisper that seemed to come from nowhere interrupted his train of thought…  
"Mal…" her eyes flickered.  
"Inara… Gorram it… why d'ya go and do a thing like that for…" his voice quivered.  
"I couldn't let them… hurt… I'm glad… that you're alright.."  
_Alright? I will never be alright… if you die on me… now…_

"Captain, we need to take her to the infirmary now… if we are to have any chance of saving her. She's losing a lot of blood." Simon's voice broke through with characteristic professionalism that belied a sense of quiet urgency.

Mal cursed the interruption but conceded reluctantly that the young doctor was right. With a heavy heart and an unnaturally laboured gait, he picked her up and made his way to the infirmary, the thought of losing her, never far from his mind. _I've never been one for complications so why did I let myself care about her? It was only supposed to be a business arrangement? Wei she me jian dan de shi bian cheng na me fu za?_ More curses to a God he had long-forgotten and self-recriminations about putting her in harm's way.  
He knew he was fortunate to have Simon as his medic and knew that if there was anyone who could save Inara, it was Simon. In all the months that he'd been with them, he worked tirelessly to patch up the crew with skill and intelligence. His devotion to his sister was a rare thing and in that time Mal had gone from grudging respect to a fierce protectiveness towards this young man.  
When they finally lowered her onto the operating table, he couldn't make himself leave. He knew he had to… he would just be in Simon's way. _She's lying there and I can't do a gorram thing to save her_. But it was as if his feet were rooted to the ground. For the second time in his life, Malcolm Reynolds felt utterly helpless. Simon, however, did not ask him to leave. He seemed to know that Mal needed to be there. Mal stood and watched as Simon prepped his patient, laid out his instruments and readied himself for the procedure. It was one that he had observed on several occasions but never before wracked with so much personal anxiety. Mal forced himself to watch as Simon confidently delved into the wound and extracted the bullet with his usual deftness. Only then did Mal realize that his hands were shaking and one of them still clutching onto Inara's. For not the first time, Mal was secretly grateful for the doctor's discretion and sensitivity.  
"Now what, Doc?" Mal finally took the plunge and prepared himself for the worst as the young doctor came to the end of his stitching.   
"Now… we wait… hope and pray… Can't do much more until her condition stabilizes."  
Pray? Now that was something Mal had left behind a long time ago… at the Battle of Serenity. Prayer was of no use to him then and didn't seem to be much use now. Yet looking at her, watching her chest struggle to rise and fall with each passing moment something that had been buried was stirring inside. For a man who had seen so many dying in his time, he couldn't comprehend why this one was slowly tearing him up inside. An unfamiliar feeling of desperation and fear engulfed him.  
_Dear God… it's been a while since you and I have had a heart to heart. I'm not sayin' I'm jumpin' back into the fold but just in case you ain't too busy and listenin', there's a fine woman here whose lyin' here at death's door 'cause of me. It's no justice done if you let her die._ The words came fast and furious... it was the best he could muster under the circumstances... and for lack of practice.

"Doc, would it be okay if I just sit myself here for a bit?"  
Simon nodded and walked away to another part of the infirmary with his instruments, leaving Mal to his own thoughts. What had he said to her once? _Everybody dies alone_. Those words came back to haunt him now. Didn't matter what he said then, he didn't want her to die. This beautiful, elegant creature who with sheer words would put him in a spin and his mind in a fog, was lying there in front of him in eerie silence. They had battled from the beginning and theirs was a battle of words. He called her a _whore_, she called him a _hun dan_… and on it went. He enjoyed their little battles, it encapsulated everything he loved about their relationship, and he secretly enjoyed the fact that she had no fear of defying him. Remembering the fire in her eyes when she told him where to get off brought an all too brief smile to his weary face. But right now, looking down at her still, broken body, he asks himself what he wouldn't do to take back all the times he had called her a _whore_… He reached his out his right hand still stained with her blood to caress her silky, black curls. Then for a second, he recoiled, telling himself he had no right but eventually gave in to his overwhelming need to touch her. If only to somehow let her know that she was not alone and that she didn't have to die alone.

Why did something simple become so complicated?


End file.
